To The Children of Slaves and Pirates
by Adverage
Summary: We are apt to find pieces of our selves in the places we'd never mean to look. Dolorosa/Mindfang


There was a leak where her chains secured her to the ceiling, when first they'd strung her up it had been shorter by a link and her toes had scrabbled at the crude hewn wood of the brig. When her captors were satisfied that the fight she'd displayed was surely and truly replaced with the empty, angry stare she'd resigned herself to, they'd allowed the chain lengthened. The leak persisted.  
>On dry days it didn't bother but for the night their sailing had been rough and stormy, more than once the floor of the ship had gone out from under her feet at a tilt only drop her back down, snapping the chains taut and tearing at her already ruined shoulders. What sleep she could steal was laced with the sight of vibrant red and rage, the feeling of a life long nurtured escaping a body punctuated by the sudden shock of cold-water drip; drip, dripping down rusted shackles. It had matted her hair and trickled into her eyes and mouth, tasting like salt and grit.<br>Somewhere in her dreams the red blood of the Sufferer had adopted that taste and waking now with it in her mouth made her want to wretch. The leak had widened to a full-fledged stream soaking her through the rags they had provided, days having stopped existing she now recorded morning and evening only by when she managed sleep. Most 'mornings' were a simple transition from hanging in the brig asleep to hanging there awake; there had been talk from her gaolers about eventual plans to put her to work but so far she was more a prisoner than a slave. Today however a shadow moved about the room, shuffling through a chest behind her, the chains would not allow her to turn her head but she heard them mumbling.  
>"The storm versus the amount of ships, the state of the ships versus the height of the waves, the length of the storm versus the height of the waves." Between such statements he seemed to be muttering fractions and ratios, it was in the nature of the Gamblignants to always be well aware of the exact risk. There was a heavy scrape and then the figure came around, some grunt come to do his work, he lifted the key up to her shackles.<br>"We've had more men overboard in the past week than the captain calculated, The Marquise says even unbroken slaves have to work."  
>When her arms fell to her sides they seemed too heavy, useless things, stripped to bones and the most stubborn of sinew. Hard to believe they were arms once exclusive to holding grubs. When she moved out from under the stream she heard the water begin to crash into the floor and even in that found the slightest relief of freedom.<br>The feeling of it didn't last long, on deck the rain fell sideways, blown into the side of the ship until she couldn't distinguish the sea from the sky. Not one of the hands looked to have been dry in days, water ran down the rigging in streams that defied physics, causing more than one set of hands to slip as they tried to gather up the sails. The slaves were set to mindless dangerous work, closest to the rails or deepest in the stern, the grunt that had dragged her to deck was lost to her within moments, swallowed by the storm and a call for hands to the mast. The ship bucked and threw her towards the rails, the force of the storm had splintered more than one of them and when she grabbed for safety her hands came back the jade color of her blood. Someone grabbed her by the shoulder, shooting an ache through her back. She couldn't make out their features through the storm nor their words as the howling swallowed them. They gestured towards the lashing for the lifeboats where the rope had frayed and was fluttering, the dingy itself swung treacherously against the ships side and she understood her purpose. It took the two of them and another slave to secure it again, and in the process the ropes had torn through the skin of her hands, the salt mingled with the green making her palms sting. The sail had been gathered into a sopping pile and now men were gathering barrels beneath it, trying to keep them from rolling about the deck. Between episodes of chaos she watched one of them get loose and roll the length of the deck into a troll who was wrestling with a canon, the strike collapsed his legs beneath him and sent him horns-first to the deck.  
>Nobody seemed to notice but her, each other individual caught up in their own battle of balance and life, the sea roared below like a hungry thing and she looked behind her to the other slaves, their dull eyes not catching. She made it to the downed troll and lifted him up to his feet, raising her head in time to see a figure on the upper deck, arms spread across the railing and despite the darkness showing still an eerie sapphire. The rain gathered and fell off the brim of her hat, her clothes soaked she was still smiling a rampant, vicious smile. Dolorosa watched one arm leave the railing and toss eight points of light into the tumult, they landed, somehow unseperated. As they sat on the deck close to her own feet they seemed to emit a noise that grew, enveloping the ship and soon it seemed the storm itself until there was only that noise, roaring and as it died down so too did the storm. Black rage fading to a dull grey and then a light, easy blue. Mindfang stood above her, looking unbothered by the entire series of events.<br>"A bunch of unseasoned wrigglers all of you, can't hand a day or two of storming without dying like something glubbed. Pathetic."  
>It was then that Mindfang looked down to her Flourite Octet and saw her, half-buried beneath the troll she'd saved, the Captain's eyes took on a new shine of amusement, when she looked down at herself she realized why. The wounds on her hands had painted her and the troll she'd helped in dark jade, she looked down at herself and then up at her captor who was all but grinning now. Dolorosa stared at her without defiance or worry but simple acceptance, unashamed of this truth or what wroth it might afford her.<br>Both of her arms were seized, the ache in her shoulders waking again as they put her to her knees. The marauder she saved thumped unnoticed to the deck, someone gathered the Captain's dice and scurried up to return them to her, the entire scene was put back together but Mindfang's eyes never left the sight of her blood.  
>"Clean that one up."<br>Cleaning her up consisted of stripping her of her rags and drenching her in cold seawater, the chill caused her muscles to tense, exacerbating the tender stinging in her arms and shoulders. Some of the Gamblignants wasted no time in ogling her though it seemed they'd already calculated the risk of violating someone the captain had paid special mind to.  
>Despite the immediacy of cleaning her she didn't see Mindfang again for what must have been a day or two, she had been returned to her cell, though more tenderly handled, and allowed manacles free of the ceiling and walls. She had tried to find occupation in shuffling around the available space but got nothing out of it and returned to static, being allowed to lie down to sleep was a new luxury she took full advantage of. No longer distracted by pain she had a notion to plot but with escape so out of reach, and purpose an even greater stretch the entire thing seemed idiotic. For the sake of her own pride she'd attempted to search through the barrels and chests that filled the room, but found nothing akin to weaponry. Her plan had boiled down to charging The Marquise were she ever to appear but when that moment presented itself there was a pressure that kept her put, as if her own body had ventured to hold her down.<br>The woman swaggered in, unaccompanied by the formality of guards. Now dry the feather in her hat brushed the ceiling and her clothes looked more befitting of the stories told of her. With each step closer whatever power subdued Dolorosa seemed to grow more forceful, a foot or two away she could hear whispers as if someone beside her was telling her secrets she couldn't discern, her body still refused to so much as squirm.  
>Mindfang appeared nothing less than giddy.<br>"Hello there."  
>She beckoned Dolorosa stand and to her own fascination she found herself obeying, Mindfang smiled at that.<br>"You'll get used to it, or you might not." It was apparent that she didn't care much either way, "Some people even enjoy it after a little while."  
>The feeling of it was like having her thoughts stepped on and yet something familiar lurked beneath it, the same such presence that the Sufferer had been able to command though it acted in reverse, soothe turned to sovereignty. Her will subdued with proximity and by the time Mindfang's hand was at her cheek she could hardly think at all, she still registered however, the cold metal feel of the Captain's hand and realized its nonorganic nature. This realization only briefly preliminary to the sharpened point of The Marquise index finger scratching a long gash down the side of her face, jade blood soaked her to the throat. She wasn't even granted the recoil of pain, stifled as she was by the control exerted over her. A fact that seemed to make the sting more potent.<br>"Well, that's interesting isn't it? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of that particular shade on my hands."  
>When Mindfang smiled at her she straightened her neck and found her hand moving of its own accord to the wound on her face, the limb shook with an attempt at rebellion but sooner than not she found her fingertips covered with her own blood. The Marquise beckoned to her again and she extended her hand until she was grabbed by the wrist. Mindfang kept their eyes locked as she licked from Dolorosa's second knuckle to the tip of her fingers, all of her muscles clenched with the sensation and her captor chuckled as if she had sensed the thoughts that had leapt unbidden into her subconscious.<br>"Normally we brand the slaves, that will have to do for you," She indicated the laceration and rather suddenly released control, The Dolorosa slumped to the ground. Mindfang only chuckled and left her to her exhausted bleeding.  
>In the following days her hands blistered and cracked and grew a new tough layer, she couldn't do much for the damage to her face besides clean it out and hope the scar would not be as shocking as the wound had. They set her to minor tasks, at first tending to those wounded by the storm, there was a maternal instinct in her nature that had leant itself to mending and the crew was glad for it. As the cases of injury calmed to a trickle the work became more laborious. Despite the apparent mark of protection that was her scar she wasn't treated gently when it came to the workload, she was taught how to tie knots, how to scrape the bow of salt and barnacles and the best way to navigate the rigging without hanging oneself. The Marquise would often watch her from the upper deck, proclaiming once that she was determined to make her worth more than just her blood.<br>Soon she was.  
>Her arms learned strength her body hadn't known, a sure-footedness never before required of her had become second nature and the day The Marquise looked at her with approval for her efforts she found a confused pride in it. Her most important training she practiced in secret. When afforded proximity to Mindfang she learned the pressure that had subdued her, inscribing the sensation so she could recall it before sleeping, familiarizing herself with the belligerence of it. So when next The Marquise paid her a visit a few breaths seemed to ease it from her mind.<br>"Heh, so algae-for-blood learned a new trick."  
>The tone of genuine amusement in her voice made her shudder.<p> 


End file.
